


Arms That Long to Hold You

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: I'm sorry if it's crappy, If it's acceptable then thank you, M/M, This is my first time writing a fic, nothing happens in this by the way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:52:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire works in a coffee shop, Enjolras works in a France-themed bookshop that just opened across the road from the coffee shop. You see where I'm going with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is my first fic)  
> (I'm sorry)

Grantaire wasn't usually a morning person. At the weekends (and sometimes weekdays, but only when he didn't have to wake up to go to work at the coffee shop, the Corinthe) he would drink himself into a stupor, and wake up with a crushing hangover at some point in the afternoon of the next day. This Saturday, however, he'd woken with a desperate need to paint. His fingers itched with the desire to grab a paintbrush and coat a canvas in colours that would twist together to create a wonderful picture. “Acceptable.” Grantaire would call it. But, over the years, the compliments he had received for his artwork from his friends (Eponine and Cosette, mostly) softened him and made him realise that, with art, well, he wasn't too bad.

His need to create some form of art was growing and so, with a slight groan, Grantaire managed to haul himself out of bed. He grabbed a pair of jeans that were lying on the chair in the corner of his room and pulled them on, and twirled around on the spot for a few seconds until he saw a relatively-clean green t-shirt, which he pulled on. He headed towards the door of his room but, as his hand was reaching towards the door, he spun 180 degrees to march back over to his desk and pick up his keys. Too many times he had had to phone Courfeyrac asking him to come by his house with his copy of Grantaire's keys because Grantaire had stupidly left his set in his room. He grabbed a black zip-up jumper off the floor and slid his arms into the sleeves as he opened the door and left his room.

Grantaire had plenty of art supplies stashed in his room, and there was really no need for him to leave his house to paint, but he remembered that the property across the street from the Corinthe, the one that had had a “FOR SALE” sign on the wall for what felt like a sixty years, had recently been bought and turned into a book shop. Grantaire figured that maybe he's find some inspiration for paintings in the books he'd find there.

* * *

The shop was pretty obvious about what type of books it stocked. The sign hanging on the front of the building, above the plain, wooden door, was immediately recognisable as a French flag, the blue, white and red stripes overlaid with the clear black name, “ **Barricade** ”. Grantaire wasn't an expert on French stuff, but he was already quite certain he wouldn't find any inspiration in this shop. Still, he felt somehow drawn towards this place, and so he found himself opening the door, causing the bell to jingle. And then the shop assistant looked up.

Grantaire felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He stood, half-outside the shop, hand still clutching the door handle (his grip had tightened considerably and his knuckles were white), mouth slightly open in an attempt to get at least some air into his body. This guy couldn't be _real_. The man behind the counter had looked up from the book he was reading to look at Grantaire. _Right. At. Grantaire._ The man's face looked like it had been carved out of marble. He looked like he's been crafted by Michaelangelo. Grantaire had never seen anything or anyone so beautiful in his life. He was reminded of the bit in the first Narnia book, The Magician's Nephew, where the apple from Narnia, when in Diggory's mother's room, made everything around it look colourless and dull in comparison. This was the exact effect of the shop assistant's face. He was wearing a red hooded jumper, and dark blue skinny jeans. ( _'Which,'_ Grantaire noted, _'are unfairly tight.'_ ). His blond hair hung to just above his jawline and it curled slightly at the ends. His hair set off his bright blue eyes and-

And he was still staring at Grantaire. A smile played upon the man's lips and Grantaire realised he was still stood in the doorway, and had no idea how long he had spent looking at this guy. Grantaire coughed, and straightened up, a blush appearing on his cheeks. He could feel the heat in his face, which just made him blush more, and he coughed again, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“You know, it'll be pretty difficult for other customers to come in if you're stood blocking the doorway.” Grantaire's eyes shot up to look at the shop assistant, whose smile had now turned into a grin. “Oh...um...yeah I...I just...hm...books...yeah...I wanted to see the books..” The assistant raised an eyebrow. _Oh._ “Yeah? Well if you maybe take a step inside you might actually be able to look at some.” The humour in his voice was obvious. Grantaire's hand dropped from the door handle as if it had burnt him and he stumbled into the shop. The door jingled again as it swung closed and Grantaire stood in the middle of the building, still looking at the floor, hands grasping for a paintbrush or a cigarette or something he could use to get him to stop embarrassing himself in front of this...this...he didn't even know how to describe the guy. He was like a _god_.

“You, er...are you alright? Do you need some help?” Grantaire's eyes flicked up to the shop assistant again and realised that he had silently moved out from behind the counter and was stood a few feet away from Grantaire, eyebrows furrowed, a concerned look on his perfect face. “Yeah?” Grantaire managed to squeak. “Yeah. Yeah, I just...I'm pretty tired. I don't usually get up this early on Saturdays, haha...” He wanted the ground to swallow him up. He fought the urge to let his gaze drop to the shop assistant's lips, and instead forced himself to keep looking at his eyes. Wow. They were so blue. Insanely blue. The deepest blue Grantaire had ever seen. A blue that Grantaire wanted to paint. _Paint. Oh, yeah. Right._ “I erm, I was actually coming in to try and find some inspiration for an, erm, for a painting. I wanted to paint so I came looking for something _to_ paint. You wouldn't have any ideas, would you?”

The assistant's face relaxed and the look of concern was lifted. Grantaire huffed out a breath of air as he looked at the guy's face, and his eyes began to flick around the room, to look at anything but the man talking to him. “Oh! You paint? That's great! Well, there's a load of books in here with stuff you could paint...pictures of French architecture, or maybe you'd like to paint something like the French Revolutions? Or perhaps the June Uprising!? Over there there's some pretty nice pictures of the Elephant of the Bastille and...” The shop assistant's arms were waving excitably as he talked and it took Grantaire a moment to draw his gaze away from said arms and process the words being said. “Uh, yeah, yeah, whatever. I suppose I could paint the revolutions, I guess.” _'Although I don't really see the point of them.'_ He said under his breath. Or what he thought he had said under his breath.

Once more, the assistant's brow furrowed and he frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked. Grantaire realised he might have said that last comment a bit too loud. “Well, you know,” he tried to explain, and he decided he might as well say what he thought, “you can't honestly think you can change the world, can you? There'll always be people abusing their power, there'll always be people trapped in a life of poverty, struggling to survive on near enough no money. If you think you can change the way the world works, you're an idiot. Nothing's going to change.”  
“That's a very pessimistic attitude.” The assistant frowned, although he still looked as beautiful as when he was smiling. “How can you say that when you can look back at history? Look at the Suffragettes and Suffragists, the Black Rights movement, the revolutions in France that eventually led to the abdication of the monarchy? How can you say protesting will do nothing?”  
“I...” Grantaire didn't know what to say. His eyes had drifted back to look at the man who was stood even closer now than before. Words failed him. “I just...I've had a lot of disappointment in my life. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Please smile again...or something. Just stop frowning at me.” His cheek flooded with colour again.

The man took a step back and stopped frowning, but he didn't smile. “Yeah. Sorry. That's a topic I get pretty heated about. I should probably try to tune it down and...not shout at customers. Anyway, you said you wanted a revolution to paint?”

The man's hand twitched, as if he was about to take Grantaire's hand, but it faltered, and instead he gestured towards the bookshelf at the end of the room. Grantaire followed him to the shelf full of books with blue, white and red spines. The man took a large book down off the top shelf and flipped through a few pages before he placed his palm on a page and thrust it towards Grantaire. “Here” he said with a satisfied smile. Grantaire looked down at the page and read the description of a battle. _'...The flags of blue, white and red flew as they were carried by riders...horses reared up in the centre of the battle...a collision of men, swords were drawn, muskets firing, and bodies were piling up on the battlefield...'_

Grantaire looked up to meet the shop assistant's eyes,”th...thank you” he stammered.  
“Anytime.” was the reply. The man looked as if he genuinely loved to show these books to people, which, from the sudden argument in the centre of the shop a few minutes previous, seemed a completely realistic assumption, and Grantaire couldn't help smiling back.

* * *

They both walked back to the counter and the assistant ran the book under the scanner. Grantaire just managed to stop himself shouting, ' _TWENTY QUID!?_ ' when the price flashed up. But he was desperate to paint _something_ and, for some reason, if him buying this book would make the shop assistant happy, then he would buy seven of them.

“If you paint something based on what you read in that book, you'd better bring it here to show me.” The assistant smiled again, the kind of smile that would make you glad to spend £20 on a book, and Grantaire felt his heart jump as he looked into the man's perfect face.  
“S..sure thing” Grantaire responded, and turned to leave. But, as his hand was resting on the door handle, he turned his head to look back at the other man, who had picked his book back up, but whose gaze was still intently fixed upon Grantaire. “What's your name, by the way? So I know who to ask for if I come to show you a painting...or if I want to buy another book...I'd prefer to be served by you again.” Grantaire asked, hoping he sounded much more casual than he felt. The shop assistant's smile widened as he absent-mindedly stroked the corner of his book with his thumb. “I'm Enjolras.” He replied, “and you?”

“Grantaire.” Grantaire smiled, and took one last look at the godlike shop assistant – Enjolras – before he opened the door and walked out of the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read The Magician's Nephew you should it's great. Man I love Narnia.
> 
> Also I was originally planning to get an actual description of a French Revolution battle for R to read but I'm really lazy and it's 11.45 at night and I'm tired


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire mopes a lot, Enjolras seems to act a bit weird and Eponine likes My Little Pony.

"Okay, right, hold on." Eponine paused to allow her brain to digest the information Grantaire had talked about while he sat on the floor behind the counter of the Corinthe. Grantaire had gone into work the day after his trip to the Barricade book shop and told Eponine what had happened there. He'd known Eponine since they were kids, and he trusted her the most out of all his friends, trusted her enough to know that he could tell her this kind of thing. "So you spent twenty pounds on some book about French revolutions because the shop assistant was hot?"  
Grantaire mumbled an inaudible reply and didn't lift his head. Eponine rolled her eyes and walked over to where Grantaire was sat, slumped on the floor, eyes focused on something in his hands that Eponine couldn't see. "What are you... _Pokemon?_ Seriously? R? You're 23 years old.” Grantaire rolled his eyes and gestured at Eponine's My Little Pony t-shirt.  
“That's different...” She tried to explain. “We...I had no clean tops I had to borrow 'Zelma's.”  
“Oh yeah, right.” Grantaire laughed, “And I suppose it's Azelma, _forcing_ you to watch that show every time I come round to your place. Anyway, Pokemon isn't for kids. I grew up with these games. I have to 'catch them all',” He physically put the air quotes around the phrase with one hand, keeping the other tightly on the console, repeatedly hitting the B button.  
“Okay, yeah, it's an alright show. But anyway, we're supposed to be working. Stop catching fictional beasts and help me."  
"There's no one here, Eponine." He argued, but he closed the game and grumbled as he hauled himself off the floor. His gaze flicked briefly towards the window through which he could see the door of the book shop across the road, open to let some fresh air in in the hot weather. His head turned back to look at Eponine who had raised an eyebrow and her lips curved into a slight smirk as she saw where Grantaire was looking. "Stop that." He frowned. Eponine glanced at the clock on the wall. 11.55am. "Hey, it's your lunch break in five minutes. Why don't you go across there and talk to him?" Grantaire's eyes widened slightly. "But what would I...I don't know what to...What would I say. No, 'Ponine, I can't. I made a big enough fool of myself the last time I was ther-" He was cut off by Eponine's hand over his mouth, her other hand pushing into his back, forcing him to turn around and allow himself to be directed towards the door. "Whht mph yph mphhmhhph?"  
"What?" She lifted her hand from his mouth so he could speak.  
"I said what are you doing?"  
Eponine rolled her eyes again and sighed impatiently. "Look we both know you want to talk to this guy and it'll be much easier for you to do that if you're in the same building so just _go and say hi._ "

* * *

Grantaire didn't dare look towards the counter in the bookshop when he walked in, instead he shuffled towards the small red armchair in the corner and picked the nearest book off the shelf. Only when he was safely hidden behind the open book did he peek over the top and look in the direction of the counter. His breath caught in his throat. He'd forgotten how beautiful Enjolras was. Luckily, the man in question was serving a customer. _Perhaps he didn't see me come in._ Grantaire thought to himself. He dropped his gaze back down to look at the book that was shielding his face from view and waited until he heard the jingle of the bell on the door before looking up again.  
Enjolras was looking right at him. He looked as if he was about to say something, but, whatever it was, he stopped himself. Grantaire noticed that he looked confused, but suddenly a flurry of customers burst through the door, and Enjolras' attention was taken by the hoard of book buyers. The flow of people entering and leaving the shop didn't die down and, after having been sat 'reading' in the shop for 45 minutes, Grantaire put the book back on the shelf and took one last look at Enjolras, who was currently smacking the bar-code scanner in a futile attempt to get it to work with a frown on his face (an image which Grantaire stored away in his mind. Perhaps he would paint that perfect frown later, to add to his quickly growing collection of paintings, drawings, sketches of this godlike being.) Feeling slightly disappointed in himself, and knowing he would have to explain to Eponine why he hadn't talked to the man he had not stopped talking about a few hours ago, he quickly and silently slipped out the door and walked back over to the Corinthe to start his second shift.

* * *

"I don't know why you can't just say hello like a normal person." Eponine said while taking money from a customer. "You've never been shy, Grantaire, but now you're moping because you can't have a simple conversation with this guy." She dropped the money into the till, smiled at the customer and turned back around to stare at where Grantaire was curled up on the floor, staring absently at the cup of coffee stood upright next to his face.  
"You don't understand." He wailed. "I get really...embarrassed when he's there, I..."  
"You need to grow a pair." Eponine said, kicking his foot to get him to stand up. Grantaire scowled at her, but stood up, leaning his elbows on the counter top and he let out a sigh as he buried his face in his hands.

* * *

For the next week, Grantaire spent every lunch break across the road in the Barricade book shop. Every time, he sat in the same chair and every time, he didn't say anything to Enjolras. Instead, Grantaire, while pretending to read one of the books, watched Enjolras working. A few times, Enjolras' gaze would flicker over to where Grantaire sat, but he was usually immediately distracted by a customer, ad when he wasn't, Grantaire saw that he did not smile, his mouth instead forming a hard line and his eyebrows furrowing slightly in what Grantaire thought looked like confusion.  
Every day, in that shop, Grantaire drank in the godlike vision of Enjolras, and every night he sat in his room, bottle in one hand, paintbrush in the other, and he painted. He painted Enjolras. He painted him how he was when Grantaire first say him, smiling,and he painted him how he looked now, confused, distant, wary of the strange curly-haired man who sat in his shop every day, the one who never worked up the courage to talk to him. Grantaire cursed himself for being such a coward. _You just have to say hello,_ he said to himself, _it's not a difficult thing to do._ But Grantaire had convinced himself that the reason Enjolras no longer smiled,was because he didn't want Grantaire in his shop. The more he thought this was the reason, the more convinced he was of its truth.  
Grantaire's painting of the revolutionary battle lay forgotten in the corner of the room, _For Enjolras_ written in white paint in the bottom right hand corner.

* * *

After a week and a half of feeling sorry for himself, Grantaire was sat on his stool in the Corinthe when Eponine grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him no choice but to look at her. "I've had enough of this." She said. "It's just a _guy_ for God's sake, what's wrong with you?"  
Grantaire's gaze dropped to the floor.  
"That's it, I'm coming with you."  
"W...what?"  
"We're going over there when this shift is finished and you're going to talk to him, and if you try to get out of it, I'm going to go there on my own and tell him the most embarrassing stories about you that I can think of."  
Grantaire brushed a hand through the wild curls of his black hair, sighed, and slowly raised himself from the stool.  
“If it'll get you off my back, fine. Let's go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Pokemon so I wanted to get that in there somewhere  
> I don't love My Little Pony but that was the first thing that came into my head
> 
> Grantaire's being a silly billy ain't he
> 
> This chapter looked longer when I was trying to type it on my phone in college today in my free lesson  
> So sorry for the short chapter


End file.
